


Love Is A Tyrant Where He Rules

by horse



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Broken Hearts, M/M, par for the course, spoilers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horse/pseuds/horse
Summary: Is it better to have loved and lost?





	Love Is A Tyrant Where He Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much [kavsdick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavsdick/) for going through/editing this for me! <3

Gwyndolin looked out unto his empty domicile, empty crown in his hands. The saintly spires of its unique design caught tampered moonlight, and twinkled maliciously in his lap, waiting for him to look upon that fool's cap when he was done with the window view.

No easy feat it had been, he thought, chest caving with a dead breath before expanding again, and he so relished the feel of air in his lungs in that moment. No easy feat, indeed. A silk-skinned hand ran across the surface of the crown, gliding over the many golden dips and swirls of its decoration.

Sulyvahn would come calling again. Gwyndolin felt his eyelids droop with the thought, lips flattening. How long would it be, he wondered? His finger became lost in a dip, and he looked down absently. All things pretty were like this: caught like a spider. He would fall to this— to consumption in some way; whether it took his soul or his self mattered little.

Days he had spent bumbling like a spring fawn were days he could have seen through to Sulyvahn's most telling calculations — to his cunning, his adeptness at being a compelling, charismatic figure. A novelty in this realm, maybe. How much did his feelings go unrequited, he wondered vaguely, embarrassed. How much had been pretense, how much had been indulgence... 

Gwyndolin let his fingers run along the cool stone of the corridor wall as he strode down the length of it, poised and determined to remain that way, above all else.

"Lo," Came a resounding voice, strangely soothing, even now. Gwyndolin attempted to remove any contempt from his face.

"Evening, _Pontiff_."

"Come now, I thought you wanted to move away from being Princess Petulant in all those hymns."

"How very dare you."

Sulyvahn caught his wrist, gave it an almost affectionate twist. Gwyndolin knew better than to protest or pull, and simply met the sorcerer's gaze in the way only a living god could. Sulyvahn seemed satisfied with this, enough to loosen his grip.

"Surely you had some reservations from the start."

Gwyndolin felt himself blink, even as close as he was to glaring, trying to discern what the man meant.

"Not all of us can so easily be... wholly abhorrent in character." Gwyndolin finished the sentence quietly, choosing to look away. Sulyvahn tilted to regard him, stay in view. He hated that habit.  
"'Twas not I who poisoned you, sweet Gwyndolin. Trusting Gwyndolin. Wasn't he?"

Sickening, the way he spoke, the way his dark eyes were still vibrant and enchanting and full of things Gwyndolin wanted to know and believe. He felt his jaw move on its own and stopped it, ground his teeth together, perhaps to distract from the pain in his chest.

"He was. Dubiously so, but all the same." Finally, Gwyndolin tugged himself free. Sulyvahn laughed; at his words, or his recoil.

"Come with me."

Gwyndolin wanted to grimace at how delicate the command sounded, how tender. That quality was what had enticed Gwyndolin at the start... truthfully, there were many reasons the god slithered forth, and very few of them were noble.

Once the door of Sulyvahn's chambers closed, so did the space between them. He had taken Gwyndolin's face in that self-assured way, waiting for no sign of retaliation, knowing there would be none, and pressed his lips to that of the shining thing he had collected for the top of his pile, no doubt with intent to barter. Gwyndolin kissed him back anyway, losing sanity by the second.

"Hear me," Sulyvahn’s words were a hum that unsettled and settled again, leaving Gwyndolin feeling unwell, trapped between the physical and psychological. Something tingled in his veins, replaced his blood with a useless substance. "I really did not, though it was a pretty idea."

"Could it matter less? I am decaying as we speak, in so many ways." Gwyndolin replied, pained, ashamed that he was letting the other know it. "Is there anything more vile than this?"

"Ever the romantic." Sulyvahn volleyed, pulling Gwyndolin to him, impossibly close again. He could feel breath on lips... Sulyvahn was perhaps still human in some way, he guessed, but Gwyndolin was no longer convinced of it.

"I should kill you, here and now."

Sulyvahn cocked his head, amused. It made Gwyndolin so angry, watching him take the threat so calmly, still smiling lopsidedly, eyebrows arched with the type of disbelief reserved for children. It was infuriating to be treated this way. It was as if the sorcerer had become someone else altogether. A shifting painting.

"I have dreamt of it, in fact." Sulyvahn spoke against his mouth, pawing at the writhing mass of his underself. Gwyndolin swatted at him, almost slapped him, stopped his half-hearted assault when Sulyvahn pulled him in, one hand at the small of his back, the other at his shoulderblades. It was still lovely to be enveloped in this way, thinking back on the times when Gwyndolin assumed Sulyvahn to be what he had projected: a capable, devout man, anchored in his beliefs and abilities — not kind, not ever that — sarcastic and witty, sharp... ambitious. All of those qualities blackened and curled in on themselves, cooling to dust behind the bleached embrace of Gwyndolin's ribs.

"Will I die here?" Gwyndolin sighed into Sulyvahn's cheek, tears already dripping from his heated face. The black-haired man held him gently, massaging the back of his head.

"Not likely." He crooned. "Something worse, if things fall into place. I won't be coy." He backed away enough to look at Gwyndolin, thumbing a teary cheek. "It bereaves me. As much as I can allow." For once, he looked and sounded serious. Gwyndolin supposed that was the best he would get, eyes turning to the ceiling, world threatening to spin. He could feel himself and all facets of that self fracture and weaken already.

"Love becomes my sin." It was a soft lamentation, directed above the head of rather than at his deceiver. His forehead came back down to Sulyvahn's shoulder, and the hand at the back of his head nestled fingers into locks of silvery white. "An unending curse on you for it..."

"Oh dear, sweet Gwyndolin. How in disgrace you are with fortune." Sulyvahn mused dryly. He pulled at Gwyndolin's hair, who begrudgingly came up, eyelids heavy. "I will never not be fond of you, and that is curse enough. I hate—" He paused, something dark in his expression. "Committing to others what I am still fond of. You know that."

"Am I thy necklace? Thy ring? Thy goblet? A trinket to be passed about? Do not disgrace me further than necessary."

The corner of Sulyvahn's lip curled. He was not an unattractive man— it added to his charm, being decently carved and painted, pale and dark in a strange, contrasting harmony. Gwyndolin's fingers curled into sorcerer's robes, nosing at his warm neck.

"I shall not beg for sympathy. I could never."

"Yes. I predicted you would doom yourself in that way." A loving murmur, if the man could be loving. Gwyndolin was no longer sure what to make of him, of the circumstance. "Though if that were ever in your nature, I would have never wasted a thought on you."

Oh, he could say such cruel things. Gwyndolin should not have felt proud of himself, but he was tickled in a sick sort of way at being the exception to Sulyvahn's relentless denouncement of mercy. If this could be mercy, anyway.

Sulyvahn sat on his bed, feeling the expensive material between hungry fingers. It was not material wealth so much as their impression, that of excess, of ownership. Triumph. Dark eyes flicked back to Gwyndolin, and perhaps he was worth only that much to Sulyvahn. Could he have ever hoped for more, with and in all his conditions? Likely not.

"Unto me."

Gwyndolin obeyed, sliding forth, resigned. He fell forwards while the sorcerer allowed himself to fall back, their hands entwined, and Gwyndolin tried to relish it, calling upon better memories than this one, even as he felt another wave of weakness.

"I do love you." Sulyvahn said like he was bothered by it, gaze hard. Gwyndolin looked down at him in his soft way; he was unable to fabricate bravado in scenarios like this, made fragile by affection.

"Heathen..." The word was calm even when Gwyndolin was not, arms already shaking— his strength was not leaving him quickly enough to make it thus, he knew it was for his breaking heart.

"Who isn't, in this world of thieves and liars..." Sulyvahn regarded him solemnly. "There are some would think my work and methods odious, and maybe so. Most of it will be jealousy that spurs the contempt though, not virtue."

"I do not need a lecture on the human condition." Gwyndolin ran a hand down Sulyvahn’s clothed chest, moving robes away from the body underneath, making them pool at Sulyvahn's sides, outlining his unimpressive figure. As compared to the Sentinels, he thought quietly, feeling out bones where they ought to be. Nothing unordinary in either direction. 

Sulyvahn was accomplished, but only insofar as to wield his greatsword. 

"No, I suppose not." The body arched slightly, and a hand came to wrap non-committally around Gwyndolin's wrist, moving up his forearm, rubbing softly. "You always knew men were of the dark. And yet, such light from you. Always that, as if to counteract it. Even for your tantrums— so mature."

Gwyndolin stopped to scowl at him, and he was glad, he could at least still manage that. It seemed so silly, in the face of everything, but the scraps of humdrum living thrown at him were gobbled up, much like Sulyvahn slurped at his resolve.

"Tantrums?" The god echoed, snakes coiling around the man under him, shifting him upwards, further onto the mattress. Sulyvahn eyed him carefully, but he was entertained, apparent in the twinkle of his eye, and the way his body relaxed after its initial apprehension. He was mortal yet. Gwyndolin could kill him, maybe... could save himself, and maybe the world.

Sulyvahn rose on his elbows, lifting them both, and kissed him. 

Gwyndolin remembered, then, that he was light, fragile, and sickly. Magic undulated in him, threatening to pull like a tide into his core and sleep forever. He could feel it. The steady retreat. Where would he be if he killed Sulyvahn— who next would trade him for some treasure, or power, or both? What was he worth to others, he wondered, eyes closing.

"I never thought a god could be this." He felt Sulyvahn mumbling against him. Typical. Sulyvahn loved to hear himself talk, hear how intelligent and sensical he sounded. Gwyndolin bit his lip in retaliation, which only spurred Sulyvahn on, of course. 

"Ah, yes. We knew you lot were petty." A hand slid along scales and Gwyndolin shuddered, making some stupid noise into flesh just below an ear. Black hair crowded his face, mixed with twinkling moonlight strands that seemed to shine brighter in the scant glow of the clear night. "But real and moved by words just as normal men. And not only words," The hand slid further up. Gwyndolin felt his back tense, arch weirdly, trying to avoid the touch and lean into it at the same time. Sulyvahn slid a finger along Gwyndolin's spine as his other moved deeper into writhing bodies and scales, and soon he was awash in Gwyndolin's grotesque form, what Gwyndolin had always considered grotesque, anyway.

"Be silent." Gwyndolin growled into shoulder, teeth flat against skin, threatening to part and bite. He didn't need a reminder, didn't need to think about how far he'd descended from his tower in the sky, nor that he had become like a maggot wiggling in filth.

Sulyvahn hummed contentedly under the hiss of snakes, tilted his head against fabric. Gwyndolin was hunched over him still, looking ready to strike. He ran fingers across the smooth skin of that pale, feminine face, unafraid, knowing greater men wouldn't have dared extend the appendage. But Gwyndolin did nothing, said nothing.

"I can't make an enemy of Aldrich. I must lose you." If Sulyvahn could be forlorn, he was then. Gwyndolin shut his eyes and tried to drown him out— there was no reasoning, not with madness. It had taken Sulyvahn, finally... or perhaps he had been mad all this while. Could it be blamed on the profane flame at all? He had seen so much in this little time that Sulyvahn had turned Anor Londo on its head. This could not all be the work of one singular thing.

"You'll still kiss me?" Sulyvahn murmured, brushing hair out of Gwyndolin's face.

"I still love you." Gwyndolin said simply, softly, wondering as the words came why they persisted. Perhaps he was tired... it had been so long, after all. Everyone was dead and lost and unconcerned with him. Sulyvahn took his face and pulled it close until they came together, lips touching softly before they pressed with more intention.

Moments passed as they twisted together, undressing, rolling once or twice, but Gwyndolin found his place back atop the other easily. Sulyvahn had always preferred that. It had never felt like he was lending Gwyndolin power, more like he was acknowledging the god's own. To be fair, Gwyndolin preferred it that way himself, ever assumed to be the dainty submissive because of his disposition. His fingers were delicate but firm enough when they moved around Sulyvahn's thighs and underneath them, making the man gasp and then let loose something of a chuckle from his throat. Gwyndolin couldn't tell how derisive it was, consumed with too many things to notice or care.

Sulyvahn had finally shut up, and Gwyndolin hated this more than anything. It was done on purpose, this curtain of silence — drawn in faux protest against Gwyndolin taking the helm — and now he was determined to rip it to shreds. He took Sulyvahn's jaw in one hand, calloused, half as much as it would have been were he not as powerful. The flesh pinched, surrendering immediately, much as he wished Sulyvahn would. He leaned down, and without warning, bit Sulyvahn's upper lip hard. The other shouted, in pain, or shock, or both. Gwyndolin pulled away once the body under him bowed enough to satisfy. Hands had clutched at him without knowing where, and so Sulyvahn had been panicked before latching onto his arms. Once Gwyndolin leaned back, Sulyvahn's grip lessened, and then his hands moved to his own face, wet almost immediately by the blood there.

"May that always be an ugliness." Gwyndolin spoke lowly, catching the curious glint in Sulyvahn's eye. His expression was almost wild, twisted with surprise, wonder, and something violent. He was circling between reactions, Gwyndolin could tell, and he waited patiently for retaliation.

"I'm sure it will be." Sulyvahn breathed before he pulled Gwyndolin down and onto him, not minding the serpents again, despite their offense at his person. The only thing keeping them from snapping was their puppeteer, who seemed content to let Sulyvahn run his maniacal little course, already accepting. Gwyndolin only moved to grasp for their collection of oils; not vast, but condemning enough.

His hand moved between legs for a moment before they pulled back, and then Sulyvahn snatched at him as if knowing, giving him another tempestuous stare before his lips began to curl, but Gwyndolin just moved further in, scales hitting the supple skin of inner thighs, the head of his dick bound to move with the rest of him. Sulyvahn's breath tunneled back into him with a broken sound. His fingers dug into Gwyndolin, his eyes shut, and Gwyndolin found himself reacting oddly... one half of him satisfied, one half unable to bear the picture, and he found himself tearing again, lifting himself on his arms to see properly.

"I cannot be kind to thee... do not ask it..." He thrust his hips, shoulders tightening as he cradled Sulyvahn's head between forearms, wanting to kiss him but wanting to watch the sorcerer's face as he got his last bit of revenge. It took Sulyvahn a moment to come back to him, breathing hard, quivering, but he smiled something deeply wicked, tangling his fingers in Gwyndolin's mussed hair.

"You aren't kind... Gwyndolin..." Those damning words floated up and sunk into his chest, one arrow after another, made him move again, delight in the way Sulyvahn's eyes shut immediately thereafter. His neck was bared, arched like a bridge over the softness underneath them, and Gwyndolin found himself drawn to it, teeth grazing skin. He didn't bite until Sulyvahn tugged on a limb, which writhed violently out of his grasp and around the offending wrist. Another followed suit with the other hand, and Sulyvahn was effectively bound, shifting his torso to get a proverbial leg up, but he was abundantly outnumbered.

"I am..." He spoke to the rhythm of his lower half, still deciding whether he wanted this to be the worst or the best fuck of Sulyvahn's mortal existence, pale hand splayed on a struggling chest. "...as-kind- as—... what's _deserved_ -" He heard the man cry out against his ear, realised he'd lowered his body again, almost laying on Sulyvahn, so he lifted himself up once more, looking outwardly as apart at the seams as he felt, no doubt. Gwyndolin fought back a sob as he looked down at Sulyvahn, knowing pain was written all over his face, that forlorn tide in his chest spilling out and over. At least Sulyvahn no longer looked amused, starting to come undone, finally.

Like this, he felt powerful again. Disbelief could hover just a moment in the air above his head, catching the sheen of sweat on Sulyvahn's skin. Several times the thought crossed his mind to flip the sorcerer over, but Gwyndolin was sentimental above all... sentimental and with profound understanding that he no longer held the upper hand. Sulyvahn jerked against him, against unyielding serpents, and Gwyndolin ignored the ache in his shoulders and thighs, snapping his hips more violently than he'd ever cared to be. Wet hair slipped into his field of vision, their chests dangerously close and then finally touching when Sulyvahn curled and began to pant. Gwyndolin could have reveled in that honesty, that vulnerability, if he weren't suffering the same things, willing hissing parts of himself away so that he could entwine their fingers, hover over his... (former) lover. Gods be damned if those last throes didn't feel like deliverance - when they tightened and shuddered together, twisting to accommodate such a calamitous spike of pleasure it could blind and deafen, if only for a moment.

Gwyndolin felt warm, wet skin against his forehead and let a shaking sigh dance over ribs. His shoulders and back were still tight, crumpled and curled as he was. He didn't move, even when he felt hands in his hair, pushing it around idly, out of his face and away. He heard Sulyvahn’s breathing, a loud and encompassing sound that soothed him like always. And like always, Sulyvahn let him remain there as the world shifted back into its appropriate state– the bricks of heavy, cold reality, settling.

Gwyndolin was asleep, tears only just now stopping as his breathing became like the sound of the seashore at night, calm at last. Sulyvahn stared off, toying with Gwyndolin’s ear before he let his hand rest on Gwyndolin's still head.

Beautiful, gorgeous thing it was.

"You must know... how close I came to choosing you. But then it would be all for naught, you know..." He muttered into the dark, aware that he was quite unheard. "I wonder..." He gave a broken chuckle, felt something hot and sharp in him. "Loss..."

The darkness was unsympathetic. Sulyvahn closed his eyes, ready to let his world die for a new one. And in the moment before he fell asleep, he could only think of Gwyndolin, and the shadow of him that would forever light the halls. The frost... every window... every arrow of moonlight would be familiar. The painted world was so far behind him, Sulyvahn mused— so far, and yet more like home than ever before.


End file.
